


You're Not Alone

by Okadiah



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Chirrut's got a lot of adjusting to do, M/M, Ultimately uplifting, change is hard, hearing loss, kinda angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-15 16:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13035321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okadiah/pseuds/Okadiah
Summary: Fic inspired by Naniibim'sEveryone Lives AUartwork and description.Chirrut, Baze, and the rest of Rogue One survive the Battle of Scarif, but not everyone made it out unscathed. Chirrut loses his hearing and must learn how to adjust to the loss and redefine his place in the galaxy. Thankfully, Baze won't let him go through it alone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by [Naniibim's](http://naniiebimworks.tumblr.com/) incredible [Everyone Lives AU](http://naniiebimworks.tumblr.com/post/163804613988/everyone-lives-au-the-kind-of-clothes-they-can) artwork and description (you should all check it out, it's amazing work!). Thanks Naniibim, for letting me write a fic for it :]
> 
> The first few chapters are kinda angsty, but they'll pick up in mood toward the latter half. That being said, I hope you all enjoy, and I'd love to hear what you think about it!

It was the repetitive draw of his breath which confirmed to Chirrut that he was still alive. The steady in and out of air as it filled his lungs and left his nose, that, and the heady throb of his heart. With burgeoning awareness, he focused on those sensations and felt more. Pain sat deep within his muscles and bones, aching wretchedly from whatever he’d done last. There was warmth and the scratchy feel of a blanket over his body and under his bare arms. The calm coolness of air which told him he was indoors, wherever that was.

Chirrut opened his blind eyes, and groaned and waited for the sound to meet his ears with gentle familiarity.

In the span of his next heartbeat, he realized something was horribly wrong.

Chirrut’s breath hitched and he opened his mouth to shout. His throat vibrated appropriately. He could feel whatever he was on shift and bounce in a way he should’ve heard. He shouted again, alarm rising like a harsh wind off the desert.

But nothing.

Chirrut waited for the sound of his voice. He waited for the telling creek the bed he was on. Chirrut waited and waited, ears pricked and mind reaching out frantically for something to cling to. Something to break through the darkness. Something to cut through the unending void of sensation smothering him.

There was nothing. Nothing but the eternity of silence.

Chirrut cried out, primal terror racing through his body as he struggled to calm down. To _remember_ what had happened to him and his hearing.

Tactile memories and the phantom echo of sound filled the quiet halls of his mind. Scarif. The battle on the beach of the Citadel Tower. Volley after volley of blaster fire and explosions and the fixed sound of Baze’s breath at his side.

He remembered activating the main comms switch as the Force flowed through him. He recalled the devastating blast of pain which followed after he’d turned to face Baze, and the weakness which had dragged his consciousness down.

Chirrut could still hear the sound of that horrible explosion so close to his ears. He remembered Baze screaming his name before awareness abandoned him to unconsciousness’ sleepy shores.

Panicked, Chirrut slammed a hand over his mouth to stifle the cries he knew were streaming out with his breath as he tried to bring himself under control. Calm his emotions. Focus. He couldn’t hear. Everything about that vital sense felt cold and dead, like a wall he couldn’t breach, and the thought hammered into him.

All his life he’d been blind, and though it had been a challenge, in the end he’d appreciated the loss. Valued it. His blindness had given him abilities more valuable than most could ever begin to understand.

The loss of his hearing, however, was a horror he’d never expected to endure. Blind and deaf. Cut off and trapped within his own mind, with no way out.

Alone.

Instinctively, Chirrut jerked away from the direction where great thumping vibrations rose out of the floor. They were uneven and heavy, the person undeniably stocky and limping, and at Chirrut’s abrupt movement, whoever it was stopped.

Chirrut thought he felt something in the air. The tiniest of tremors? Words? The footsteps started again and those vibrations, those words, they grew stronger. He had no idea what they were saying or what they meant, but Chirrut felt the deep bass of them and _knew_ who it was.

 _Baze_ , Chirrut said, forming the word and feeling it resound in his throat. The way he said it felt raw. He was sure it shook. It might have cracked.

He waited, and as if coming from across an impossible sea, Chirrut felt the air rumble again, low and steady. Baze took several more steps and, terrified as he was, Chirrut sucked in a breath.

The smell of antiseptic beat at him from all sides, burning his nose where it screamed at him with enhanced sensitivity, but he ignored the harsh smell and summoned every scent of Baze he’d ever committed to memory. Sweat. Musk. The oils on his skin. His familiar clothing. The odor that was all his, deep and comforting.

And there it was, reaching out to him like a lifeline.

Big, warm hands closed around his shoulders and that deep bass vibration heightened as Baze said something else. Chirrut tried to make sense of it. Tried to _understand_ what those vibrations meant, but with Baze in front of him, with his scent strong and curling around him like a blanket, all Chirrut could do was lean forward and press his nose into his partner’s neck and _breathe._ His hands found Baze’s shirt, felt the muscles under it shift, and Chirrut held tight.

The vibrations rolling out from Baze’s chest paused, and it took a moment for Chirrut to realize his vocal cords were vibrating in response. Saying something. Meaning something. But because he couldn’t hear now … he had no idea what he’d said.

Arms curled around him like warm bars as Baze tugged him forward almost violently. Baze’s vibrations came back, and still Chirrut didn’t know what his best friend was saying, and the panic, the agony he’d just barely held back … it crashed down on him like the fiercest sandstorm he’d ever endured on Jedha.

Desperately he focused his ears, _needing_ to hear the most important person in his life.

He heard nothing. And the loss of his friend’s deep voice — that pleasant bass which had always slipped from Baze’s chest and straight to the core of Chirrut’s bones — a constant throughout most of his life, was devastating.

Baze held him tighter against his larger body, pressing Chirrut’s face into the crook of his neck with fierce protectiveness. Like this, with the dark, soundless world which now separated him from Baze, from everyone and everything … Chirrut didn’t feel as far away as he had those first horrifying moments awake and aware and alone.

Chirrut wept then, tears catching in Baze’s clothing as he sat in silence and open grief at what he’d lost.

He was too familiar with his partner to convince himself Baze wasn’t quietly doing the same.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Chirrut awoke again into his dark prison and found chaos beating at him from all sides.

Since waking yesterday, he’d struggled to find a foothold in the physical world around him. A way to bring in communication past the wall of silence. He could talk. Anyone could understand him. But understanding them? Breaking past the silence and unknown?

It was starting to feel impossible.

The only success thus far had been because of Baze. He’d spelled letters in Chirrut’s palm, slowly constructed words that had chipped at the barrier between them. But the process was frustrating and bothersome, given the slow method, even if it was like a tiny breath of air when he’d been forced to hold his breath. That method, however slow, wasn’t going to work now, not with the madness thrashing about him as he tried to make sense of a world he could hardly understand.

Despite the limitations, Chirrut was sure that something terrible was happening with the thud of footsteps running rapidly past, doors opening and shutting so quickly he wasn’t sure if they were open or shut anymore, with the feel of droids whirling by, he was inundated. Overwhelmed by stimuli he couldn’t quite piece together.

And Baze was not there.

Chirrut called for him. He reached and fell from the cot he was confined to while he healed from the other wounds he’d collected from Scarif, and though someone picked him up and pressed him back into his bed, it was not Baze.

He asked the person where Baze was. What was happening. But although he could feel the person’s voice as they responded to him in rapid, clipped tones, it meant nothing to him. Just … vocal vibrations. A language he wasn’t familiar with yet, and he was lost. Lost and alone, left to wait for whatever was happening to happen.

And not knowing was the worst of it.

Focusing, Chirrut sought the Force as an outlet. As an escape from the maddening questions filling his mind, but like betrayal, he couldn’t connect. Years as a Guardian of the Whills spent training for even the faintest connection with the Force, and now when he needed it, it felt so far away.

It felt like days had passed within the prison of his mind before a familiar heavy tread and unmistakable scent broke through it. Without hesitating, Chirrut faced Baze and reached out and a solid chest met his palm. Calloused hands clamped on his arms, and Chirrut tried to understand. Rumbles rolled from Baze as he spoke. They meant something. _He knew it_.

What was Baze saying?

Disheartened and abandoned despite Baze’s presence, Chirrut clenched a hand into the fabric of the bigger man’s shirt and pressed his brow above it to hide his shame.

The vocal rumbles stopped, and a hand held the back of his head against the barrel of Baze’s chest, tactilely grounding him. The feel of his partner’s heartbeat and breath was so close Chirrut could almost imagine what it sounded like. He’d heard it so many times over the years while Baze had slept and he’d curled close to listen.

Baze’s chest vibrated and, with a blink, Chirrut realized he knew what his friend had said.

Chirrut.

_You said my name,_ Chirrut said out loud with words he couldn’t hear. _Didn’t you_?

A rumble. It felt like a yes. It had to be, because Baze had also nodded.

_Say ‘yes’_ , Chirrut said.

The same rumble. _Yes._

Chirrut smiled, relief rushing in like a tide as an idea developed. He pressed his hand against Baze’s chest.

_Say ‘no’._

A different rumble. Short and distinctive. _No._

Baze straightened, catching on. His hand covered Chirrut’s where it rested over his heart. He waited.

Bittersweet excitement roared through Chirrut, like his world was opening up a little more. What to ask? What to say? Stuck in his head with only slow finger-drawn communication meant he had a buildup of questions waiting to be answered. But with whatever was happening outside many of those questions vanished, leaving only what was important.

_What’s happening,_ he said. _It’s bad._

_Yes._

_Are we being attacked?_

A slow pause. _Yes_.

_Space battle or ground assault?_

The first set of matched vibrations gave Chirrut his answer. _Space battle._

_The Empire?_

_Yes._

Chirrut frowned. He knew from their slow finger-spelled conversations that they were on Yavin 4 again. That they’d managed to get the Death Star plans. But if the Empire was here, what did that mean?

_Our mission. We failed?_

_No._

Chirrut’s frown deepened.

_Have we succeeded?_

A pause, and he felt Baze shift uncomfortably. The vibrations came again, and they weren’t yes or no or his name. It was a phrase. A short sentence. Judging by the slight shrug Chirrut felt, he thought he knew what Baze had said.

_You don’t know._

The vibrations came, and though they were deeper in tone, at least two words matched the pattern that had come out of Chirrut’s own mouth. He guessed the first and knew the last.

_I don’t know, Chirrut._

A touch of fear came with his understanding. Now there was only one rational explanation for the anxiety of the world around him.

_What might happen … will it be the same as what happened to Jedha?_

Baze’s hold on him tightened.

_Yes._

_The Death Star. It’s here?_ Chirrut asked.

Baze’s direct nature was one of Chirrut’s favorite qualities. Even now.

_Yes._

Chirrut swallowed but ultimately allowed himself to relax against Baze. What else could he do? They do? Baze was still injured. Chirrut was deaf and blind and couldn’t walk three steps without toppling over, even if he hadn’t been injured just as badly. They wouldn’t get lucky this time like they had on Jedha. There was no escape.

If they died, Chirrut was content that at least he’d go with Baze. At least he’d found a way to speak with him again.

As they sat together and breathed in synchronicity, waiting for whatever would happen to happen, Chirrut listened with his body. He might not be able to hear anymore, but he’d feel the explosion long before anyone heard it. He’d probably feel it well before anyone else felt it, due to his sensitivity. Unless they were in the direct line of fire, Chirrut hoped he’d have warning enough to pull Baze down for one final kiss, before the end. Something soft and meaningful, before it all faded away and they found each other again in the Force.

Chirrut didn’t know how long they waited. His perception of time was skewed in this new world of his, but he had Baze’s heartbeat to keep time with. He counted every breath and waited the tense minutes patiently. Waiting for the Force’s will.

Then … something broke – whether in the real world or the Force, Chirrut wasn’t sure – but one moment everything was wrung wire-tight. The next, the tension released.

Chirrut felt the pressure in the base break an instant before Baze released a shuddering breath and turned Chirrut’s face up to kiss _him_. Relief was in that kiss. A future was in that kiss.

That was all the confirmation Chirrut needed.

The Death Star was destroyed, and though Chirrut couldn’t hear the party which ensued, couldn’t see it, he could feel it.

And though he was now trapped in his mind, he found he wasn’t as angry or afraid.

The destruction of the weapon which had been used against Jedha? The monstrosity which had threatened the entire galaxy? If the price for making that happen had been his hearing, then Chirrut was grateful for the bargain deal. He’d have given his life to ensure the Death Star would be destroyed. No doubt Baze would have too. But they were both alive, and now a flicker of Force sense curled around him, and he could _feel_ the life in Yavin base. The joy. The hope.

Perhaps his new prison wasn’t so bad. After all, he was alive and so was Baze and the others. He was learning to hear again, even if the way was strange and difficult.

There was no reason Chirrut couldn’t retake his life again too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a Rebels writer. I couldn't help but put my favorite character in, but I think he's an appropriate addition. I hope you enjoy!

Surviving Scarif was a blessing, and Chirrut knew it. Using this new method of communication, he found out the Death Star plans had been found and transmitted to the rebellion. Though there had been casualties, a lucky handful of members of the now infamous Rogue One had survived. They limped on now, injured and more broken than they’d been before the battle, but alive.

Baze Malbus was alive. He was too, for that matter.

These _were_ blessings, and Chirrut was beyond grateful for every one of them because everything could have gone much worse than it had. They could have lost so much more. They could have all died. The plans might not have been found and transmitted. The people of the galaxy could have lost so much more.

On Chirrut’s darker days – when it was a struggle to orient his mind on the good and not the bad – these blessings sometimes felt like curses. Or, his blessings felt like curses.

The bad days were rare days, admittedly, but they did exist even if most everyone else was oblivious to them. He never said a word about them, but he knew Baze sensed them when they came, as if his partner had a direct line into the lonely world Chirrut’s life had become. Despite his bad days when he felt angry and isolated, Chirrut worked hard to maintain his smile and keep cheerful for those who needed cheer and support.

He was still a Guardian of the Whills, even if sometimes he felt anything bu.

The first month after Scarif had been among the hardest of Chirrut’s life.

He’d never realized how much he relied on his hearing. He’d known — of course he’d known — because he’d used it for everything. His hearing had been the sight he’d never had. It, coupled with his body, had been his eyes. His primary sense. Through his hearing, he could locate himself. Through his hearing, he became one with the rest of the world. Through his hearing, he fought and lived and existed.

After losing it on Scarif, he’d wondered if this experience – this … void – was similar to what it was like for everyone else when they lost their sight. He’d never had sight like they’d had, and so he’d never felt the true sting of its loss.

He felt the sting now. All his life he’d been cut off from the world because of what he couldn’t see, and he’d learned to live with it. It was normal for him. But without Chirrut’s sharp hearing, he felt double-barred. Isolated in his mind as the rest of the world moved on and thrived around him. He knew it did. He could feel it through the vibrations in the ground and the shift of the air. He could even smell it better now too.

But Chirrut hardly felt part of it. It was as if he’d been left behind. A satellite moving further and further away from the solar system which had kept it.

The only thing which made the change bearable was Baze.

Since the destruction of the Death Star, he and Baze made their home with the rebellion, sticking with the survivors of Rogue One. Those first weeks had been spent in healing, for the both of them, and in that time, they worked out this new form of communication via vibration.

It wasn’t easy, but Chirrut was motivated if only to stem the loneliness which pressed in on all sides. Physically, Baze was always close by. The larger man rarely left him alone or ventured far, and the Rogue One members often visited and did what they could to help him learn to hear words with his hands and body. Jyn came around the most, then Bodhi, Cassian, and even K-2SO, but inevitably they would say something Chirrut couldn’t puzzle out, and everything would go silent.

Or, more often than not, the conversation they were supposed to have with him would be directed at Baze, leaving Chirrut with little to do except try to keep up. Bless Baze Malbus, he always found a way to redirect the conversation back to Chirrut, or ask questions so the practice would once again be focused on Chirrut and his learning. Chirrut’s improvement.

But despite Baze’s efforts, despite the hours of practice, the solitude was intense. His struggle to learn as quickly as possible ate at him. He was being forgotten.

When Baze and the others were gone — on mission or errands or … whatever adventures Chirrut could only imagine — in the stillness of his quarters, he meditated.

Meditating might have been one of the best things to arise from the whole situation. With the language barrier separating him from everything else, with so much silence to prevent him from becoming distracted, the only direction Chirrut had left to travel was inward.

Life as a Guardian of the Whills had ensured meditation was a steady practice, but he’d never experienced it to such an extent. For hours every day, he sat calmly and envisioned the void. Searched for inner peace. Strove for a greater connection with the Force.

And with growing acuity, he was finding it.

Within the deaf-blindness, the hard-won moments of Force connection he once struggled to feel all his life steadily grew with each meditation. It was relieving in a way he couldn’t begin to put words to — and he tried when Baze asked, given his more tolerant acceptance of the Force since Scarif.

It was as if Chirrut had found space within himself. He knew the Force connected him to everyone and everything else. He felt it every time he experienced flashes of Force insight. But now with concentration and a patient, steady heart, he found more. Where people near him had been nothing but figures in matte black space, now they were flares of awareness to his perception. Candles of heat or … something. Presence. The feel of the Force was growing more defined. It wasn’t as brief and faint as a zephyr of wind anymore. It was a gentle current now. A kind of radiance.

It was through the Force that Chirrut found a presence much stronger than those around him. And one day, with Baze’s help, he went in search of that presence.

What he found was a man.

_He’s a Jedi,_ Baze said softly as if astonished as Chirrut kept his hand on Baze’s back. _A real one._

_A Jedi,_ Chirrut said with a smile before he addressed the man. _I felt you in the Force._

A hand clasped his shoulder, and through that connection Chirrut felt the words this man said.

_I know you did,_ he said. _I’ve been waiting for you to make your way here for days now. I think there’re some things I can teach you._

_I’m not a Jedi,_ Chirrut said. _Just a simple Guardian of the Whills_.

_Eh, close enough. I wasn’t a Jedi for a long time, even if I started off as one,_ the Jedi said. _Still not entirely sure that’s what I am these days. But that doesn’t matter. You searched me out in the Force. And here I am_.

And with Kanan Jarrus’ help, Chirrut’s world expanded again.

Since meeting Kanan, if the Jedi was around Chirrut would spend his time in meditation with him. Time and again, he was struck by how easy it was to communicate with Kanan when he could hardly do it with anyone else. Sometimes it almost seemed as if they didn’t _need_ speech, which broke through his language barrier effortlessly. They spoke, of course they spoke, but Chirrut hardly needed to speak to convey his meaning. It often seemed as if Kanan just _knew_.

In truth, there wasn’t a whole lot Kanan Jarrus did for him. Chirrut’s previous experience of the Force had come through hard work, extensive training, and dedication and not some inherently natural connection like it did for Kanan or his Padawan, Ezra Bridger. That meant abilities and skills such as telekinesis or mind tricks were still well past anything Chirrut could ever hope to master.

But what Kanan did teach him was how to use the Force to adapt.

_Your friend, the big guy, tells me you’re blind too,_ Kanan said from his place seated across from him. Chirrut’s connection to the Force had developed enough that the need for physical contact for communication wasn’t necessary – with Kanan at least. _And that you’re a brilliant fighter. How’d you manage that?_

Hard work, discipline, and a boundless well of humility for all the mistakes he’d made and times he’d fallen or walked into walls when he was younger. Chirrut told the Jedi as much.

_And yet you learned to understand your body and integrate its sensations. See without seeing._ There was a smile in the Jedi’s voice. _I bet you’ve used it to your advantage. Played up to everyone’s underestimations. I know I have._

Chirrut grinned.

_Perhaps a time or two_.

_Well, this is no different_ , the Jedi said. _Like using your body to see, I think you can learn to use the Force just enough to adapt to this new change you’re experiencing._

_That would be a relief,_ Chirrut said. _Many of my abilities relied on my hearing. My equilibrium and balance have been the most affected. It would be nice to walk on my own again without falling over._

And so the Jedi had taught him how to use this faint Force sensitivity to feel out the world as he once had with his hearing. Integrate it with his body, and with extensive practice, Chirrut was finally able to walk across a room again without falling over. Perhaps he’d stubbed his toes a time or two, much to Baze’s amusement, but it _was_ an improvement.

Chirrut could move around on his own. His world was growing. He was becoming one with it, and the agitated heat in his chest at his new limitations felt a little less hot. A little less insistent as he progressed from walking across the room unassisted, to walking across the ship unassisted. He even managed to work through a few simple combat forms, even if he was less successful with that endeavor.

The feel of Baze’s booming laughter never failed to cheer him up, however.


	4. Chapter 4

To Chirrut’s surprise, as well as those closest to him, he regained some of his hearing after several long months had passed.

Everyone had been enthusiastic about the development, and they’d practically radiated in the Force, and Chirrut hadn’t had the heart to do anything but give them a soft smile of encouragement. Laugh and grin and feed their happiness. Their happiness for him.

He couldn’t bring himself to admit he hated this development. So much that he almost wished what hearing he’d regained hadn’t come back at all.

Of course, Baze knew. How he knew this time, Chirrut couldn’t even guess, but his partner knew.

It wasn’t that Chirrut wasn’t relieved to hear again. That wasn’t the case. With this minor improvement, his equilibrium was slightly better. He didn’t feel as disconnected from those around him. He was included in conversations again, once more achieving the status of active participant as opposed to forcing his way into conversations to remind everyone – even himself sometimes – that he still existed.

But Chirrut had come to accept the solitude which had consumed his life after the loss of his primary sense. He’d found something unexpectedly peaceful in his new connection and dependence on the Force — something he’d craved all his life as a Guardian. His Force sense hadn’t been perfect by any means, but with it he’d gained some satisfying sense of autonomy and accomplishment. He and Kanan sparred regularly now as a way to improve his sensitivity. Chirrut had been quite proud of himself.

The return of his hearing disturbed that peace and solitude. After months of silence, the sound was almost deafening and relentlessly distracting. That first week, Chirrut had sat in the mess hall and simply listened to all the noises that made it past the barricade of his senses. It was like listening to a comm with bad reception. He heard certain voices. Snippets of conversation. The sound of utensils or the clack of a tray on a table. Footsteps. A flash of music before it faded into nothing.

Despite Chirrut’s appreciation for the silence, he’d been a man starved of sensation. The snippets he’d heard were crumbs on a plate, crumbs he’d devoured with relish.

But the longer Chirrut listened – the more he absorbed and adjusted to this new state of sensing – the more he realized how flawed it was. The problem was that what hearing he’d regained was _exactly_ like poor comm reception. It never stabilized. It cut out. He’d converse with Bodhi, and suddenly the conversation would drop away and plunge him into silence. It would take him a moment to switch to vibrations again for communication, and the transition somehow never went unnoticed. Or he’d think he heard something said a certain way, only to find out he’d misheard or imagined hearing whatever he’d responded to. It made him feel old. At least, older than he was.

But what drove him endlessly mad about his returned hearing was that it wasn’t the same. And the distinction was agonizing.

Music he’d loved no longer sounded correct, as if it had been altered slightly. He never realized how much he’d loved the sound of a particular chant or hymn or tune before he lost his hearing. Now, he listened to his favorites and hated them. And it wasn’t because he no longer adored the music. It was because it was _wrong._ Music he _knew_ was correct from the feel of it _sounded_ wrong. Like the world had changed tones and pitches when he hadn’t been paying attention, and everyone was in on the joke. Everyone insisted nothing had changed. It was like the strangest form of betrayal.

On those harder days when his anger quietly simmered, Chirrut had to patiently remind himself that it was his own ears which had changed, and not the fault of those around him.

Tenor and alto pitches were skewed, when he heard them at all. He didn’t know how many times he’d misheard Cassian or Bodhi. Strangely enough, Jyn was a little easier to understand, but not by much. K-2SO sounded particularly tinny but was the easiest of his visitors to listen to. He even misunderstood Kanan a time or two.

The only thing which made this weaker hearing bearable, again, was Baze.

Due to the deep rumble of his voice, Baze was the clearest to hear – the one with the best reception. Hearing Baze’s voice again for the first time, a sound so familiar and so heartbreakingly _there_ and everything he’d craved for months in the silence … Chirrut had been moved to tears. Even Chirrut’s own voice wasn’t as clean or clear as Baze’s was, and though his hearing sometimes dropped out in the middle of a conversation, Baze’s voice was still the thing he loved most about the change.

The doctors warned him not to expect much more from his hearing, and that he should start using aural enhancers. Using them might level out the imbalances he experienced. He might even be able to hear better than he once had if he could adjust to them. The doctors were confident, given how Chirrut had adapted his life numerous times to the limitation of his body. Chirrut himself had even been hopeful.

But after a week, doubts began to grow, and after a month he’d been certain. Although the enhancers improved the poor comm reception sensation, it was only slightly better. He could hear those who were nearest best, but it wasn’t _anywhere_ close to how well his hearing had been when it had been his and natural. Sometimes the enhancers were pitchy as well, emitting sharp sounds which made him wince. They gave him headaches.

He hated wearing them and would, when alone, go without them since the quieter silence was better than the improved but uncomfortable hearing.

Baze, Chirrut was certain, knew why he opted out of wearing them, even though Chirrut had never complained a word. At night, when they were alone and the ship slept, Baze would hum in the tiny room they shared. The feel of it would roll from the deep drum of his chest right into Chirrut’s back. Baze’s voice blanketed his ears and curled around his mind, reaching him were so few could properly reach him.

And it was because of this, and because Baze had asked him to, that he continued to wear the aural enhancers. To train his hearing and adapt to his new sensory world again, even if it was agitating and difficult. When Chirrut needed to be social, he wore them. When he was out and about, he wore them. Baze even helped by wearing tiny bells to ensure Chirrut always knew where he was, regardless if he wore the enhancers or not.

But when Chirrut was meditating or sparing with Kanan, and most of all when he was alone with Baze, he would not wear them.

With the artificial ‘improvement’ of his hearing, he and Baze both thought it was about time to find a staff again to help guide him again. His echo-box paired with the enhancers _did_ help Chirrut move more normally — it was becoming rarer that he ran into walls or stubbed his feet — but what he would have given for his kyber staff back.

Baze had been the one to tell him his staff had been lost on Scarif, and of the many things he’d lost that staff with its soft song was a loss he’d felt profoundly. Even back then, his awareness of the Force had been enough to hear the kyber’s song and be guided by it. With his improved Force sensitivity, Chirrut believed the crystal resonance would’ve aided him far more than it ever had in the past and become a beloved companion.

Unfortunately it wasn’t the case, so in lieu of that they found a staff of about appropriate height and weight, and Baze installed a sensor set at a frequency Chirrut and his aural enhancers could perceive. 

The sound of the sensor in his new staff made his ears ache and his head throb, and he missed his kyber staff more than he let on. A lifetime listening to its mellow harmonics made the shift to the sensor difficult to take, and it was like relearning yet _another_ new language.

But it helped, and it worked just as well as the kyber shard had in his first staff, even if it wasn’t the same. Though he never said anything about it, as always, Baze knew. Sometimes he caught Baze fiddling with the sensor itself when Chirrut pretended he wasn’t paying attention. Tuning it as if that would make the sound more bearable. Once he’d overheard Baze ask Kanan if it would be possible to find another kyber crystal shard while he was out and about in the galaxy. Kanan had promised he’d do what he could do to keep an ear out for one.

Chirrut didn’t expect the Jedi to be successful, but the thought that they were trying made him smile regardless, and the sensor at the end of his staff didn’t seem quite as grating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I once lost low-tone hearing in my left ear and for six months it was THE WORST. My favorite music sounded completely wrong and it was awful. It evened out to normal eventually, but nothing made me angrier than wanting to listen to my favorite sounds/songs and finding that they sounded off. I thought Chirrut might feel similarly :]


	5. Chapter 5

Chirrut’s hearing wasn’t the only thing which had changed since Scarif, and as the rebellion planted roots on an icy planet called Hoth, it became clearer than ever that he and Baze could not fight at the same capacity they’d used to.

Though he’d adjusted to the aural enhancers, Chirrut’s ability to fight wasn’t anywhere near the level it should have been. He could fight and he could spar. In a closed and controlled battle, he could hold his own.

But out in the field where it mattered, where his life and others counted on his ability to engage in the ever-changing environment of combat, he was a liability. Both he and Baze were.

The battle on Scarif had taken more out of them than either cared to admit. They weren’t young men anymore, and it showed. Ignoring the loss of Chirrut’s hearing and tentative orientation in the world, his body ached wretchedly. Months spent on a ship in space without a great deal of movement or motion besides occasional sparring had left his body weak. With the break in his physical training, his age had gotten the better of him, and the top form he’d had was gone for good.

Baze wasn’t in prime shape either. Scarif had wounded him in other ways and had taken from him almost as much as it had Chirrut. Baze moved with a limp now, though it was slighter since the bigger man trained rigorously to strengthen and compensate for it. He’d lost his repeater cannon to the assault and, to save Chirrut, he’d suffered extensive burns to half his body. The bacta had helped heal most of it, but there were still scars that were stiff and ached and sometimes pulled when he moved.

The blast hadn’t only scarred Baze. He’d also lost his right eye as well, and at night Chirrut would sometimes trace his fingers over the wound and the empty socket which lingered there.

Baze was still able to fight significantly better than Chirrut could. He could still hold a blaster and fire it with decent accuracy, but the fighting just wasn’t what it used to be. When a mission presented itself, one which would likely result in a battle, more often than not Baze would find another role to occupy than as a fighter. A useful role, but one less stringent on his body.

It wasn’t long before Jyn suggested to Mon Mothma and Princess Leia Organa that perhaps the best positions for both Baze and Chirrut within the rebellion were as instructors. Teachers. With all the new recruits they received every day, they needed formal trainers.

And who better than Guardians of the Whills?

Truthfully, Chirrut hadn’t expected his stoic, stern, cynic of a partner to take as well as he did to the position. He hadn’t thought Baze would even accept the role at all, though Chirrut personally believed he would be excellent at it.

But Baze had. And Chirrut was right. Baze was a brilliant teacher.

All his combat experience and disciplined upbringing led to an efficient, no-nonsense approach to training which resonated with the trainees, his age and former position as a Guardian only adding to the respect he received and his growing prestige.

Chirrut on his end offered what he could and instructed as he was able, but it was clear the students favored Baze. Of course they respected Chirrut, given his uncanny ability to navigate and fight while blind, but no matter his instruction, in combat training his explanations were often perceived as enigmatic or esoteric. So he left the majority of the combat training to Baze.

And that was when he found his proper place as a teacher.

More and more, people were becoming curious about the ways of the Force. There were Jedi again, and the light side of the Force was starting to resurge after more than a decade of oppression. People were coming to him, asking about the Whills. About the old religion. About what it might take to become a devotee and a future generation Guardian of the Whills.

And, what felt like overnight, Chirrut had become Master Îmwe again, and he had a budding aggregation of students intent on learning about the Force and its teachings from him.

When they were alone, Baze teased him relentlessly and insisted Chirrut was forming his own cult. But his partner would always back off and tell him he couldn’t think of anyone better for the job of keeping the old religion alive. Chirrut’s work educating others about the Force boosted morale and positivity within the base. An unexpected, though welcome responsibility of his was to be in the hanger to offer a final ‘may the Force be with you’ to outgoing pilots if none of the other Force-sensitives on the compound were able to do it. He aided the resolution of disputes and was becoming quite the negotiator. His own prestige was becoming as impressive as Baze’s.

When he wasn’t doing that, however, the powers that be on Hoth enjoyed the use of his unique Force sensitivity to expand the base itself. There were vast networks of ice caverns underground which could be accessed, explored, and turned into usable area so long as they could find them and get to them. That was where Chirrut came in.

Through vibrations in the ground, he could feel weak spots in the walls or whether there was a cavern or set of tunnels worth pursuing just beyond. He could find the best places to dig. They had machines which could do this too, but it was clear in a month’s time that Chirrut surpassed them exponentially. The expansion which occurred within the first three months they arrived on Hoth had been largely his doing.

These new tasks and roles made Chirrut feel involved again. Like there _was_ a place for him now, despite his hearing and retirement from battle. He had a place, both he and Baze did. A purpose. A way to once again contribute.

For the first time in a long time, he stopped feeling so isolated and found he was not as alone as he’d been.


	6. Chapter 6

Today was a hard day for Chirrut.

His aural enhancers were acting up, the sensor in his staff was clashing with the enhancers due to conflicting frequencies which caused sharp and painful jolts of sound to plague his ears. There was an important briefing taking place, one which had requested both his and Baze’s attendance. They wanted to know if it was possible to improve the basic hand-to-hand and weapons combat curriculum and if Chirrut could help them further excavate the compound.

Chirrut only knew these were topics of the conversation because he’d kept a hand discreetly on Baze’s back the entire time. Yet, despite his subtle handicap and the efforts he took to stay involved and convince the others he was as reliable and capable as ever, it was becoming apparent that — at least today — he wasn’t. He’d accidentally spoken out of turn three times, spoken when someone else had been talking because he couldn’t hear her soft alto, he’d accidentally said the wrong thing, or had said nothing when they’d asked him a question which prompted Baze to nudge and direct him.

It became apparent the moment he was subtly excluded from the discussion, and it was frustrating. But he didn’t let it show on his face. He didn’t let it show in his touch on Baze so the bigger man wouldn’t know. But deep in his chest, heat gathered silently.

Today was one of those days when he wished he was back on Jedha, before all of this had happened, guarding the streets and helping people and listening to the sweet sound of the kyber shard in his old staff in his old city. His home. Capable again.

“Chirrut?” Cassian said from across the table. The tone of his voice suggested he’d said his name several times. “Are you all right?”

Baze turned, his long hair brushing his hand and Chirrut had had enough.

“Excuse me,” Chirrut said, rising to his feet and heading for the exit while ignoring the quiet pressure flowing off Baze. “Please, carry on without me. Baze can tell me about whatever I miss.”

If someone said something, he couldn’t hear it. He didn’t even want to hear it. Instead, the moment he passed through the doors he pulled the aural enhancers off and pocketed them. A quieter, muffled silence descended on his senses, and Chirrut took a relieved breath and oriented himself within his Force sensitivity to make up for his lost hearing. After the meeting, the last thing he wanted to do was hear anything. The last thing he wanted was to be reminded of his shortcomings.

Chirrut sighed before bundling up tighter in his coat and heading for the hanger bay. With the blast doors open it was freezing, but he hardly cared. Sequestered indoors, away from the outside world, left him claustrophobic and all he craved now was the breeze. The chill. The snow might be different but the bite of the cold was similar to Jedha, and right now he needed it. Needed a little freedom. A little silence. A little home.

Through the Force, he understood others speaking to him, warning him about the cold or to be careful of ships in his way or to stay by the walls to avoid traffic. Chirrut only smiled and nodded, lifting a hand to appease them. As he neared the exit the temperature plummeted, and once he passed the blast doors, the cold wind threatened to steal his breath away.

His lungs stung as he took a deep breath, adjusting to the change, but after another lungful the shock of cold wore off and he took a trail up to the crest of the snow-covered cliff which hid their base away. Chirrut felt more than heard the snow crunch under his boots. He heard the scream of the wind as it howled across the frigid landscape, however, and with every step higher he felt himself pull away from the cloying energy inside. Away from his problems and the difficulties he was having with the day.

At the summit of the cliff, he stopped and held his staff between his hands and closed his eyes. The sun was shining, and its faint warmth touched his face where his nose and ears burned as if to soothe them. A shiver ripped down his spine, but Chirrut breathed through it as he always had back on Jedha when it had been so cold. Snow bit into his flesh as it rushed past him. It almost felt like sand.

The wind died down, the snow stopped falling, and the air was so dry that for a moment he _could_ pretend he was back on Jedha. Like his home was here, right around him despite everything that had changed and everything which had been lost. It didn’t matter that it was colder than Jedha had ever been. He ignored that it was quieter than Jedha had ever been.

But like this, he imagined home and closed his eyes, taking the touch of peace as it worked past his agitation and reached the core of him. Soothed him and helped clear all the static from within, out.

When he refocused his senses, letting the illusion of home, of calm, of peace slip away to once again replace itself with reality, he found he wasn’t alone. A tiny bell tinkled and by his side, steady and watchful as ever, was Baze.

“You should be at the meeting,” Chirrut said, his voice muffled and odd without the enhancers. “They like you more.”

“They don’t like me at all. Why else do they always call for you too?”

Baze’s voice was deep and rich and pure. Chirrut didn’t know if it was the cold or the snow or just the strange day he was having, but it seemed that despite his problems, today was also one of those rare, good days where he didn’t need the enhancers to hear Baze with perfect quality.

“They are simply being polite,” Chirrut replied, holding the end of his staff in his hands as he leaned against it with a wry smile.

Baze shrugged. “It’s strange how a place so different can still remind me of home.”

Chirrut hummed, heart relaxing as he listened to his partner. “Does it? But there is snow, and there was only ever sand on Jedha. Perhaps your one working eye isn’t working as well as everyone thinks?”

A low chuckle slipped from Baze’s chest before it tapered off. The larger man shifted slightly before curling an arm around Chirrut’s shoulder and pulling him gently against his chest.

“You’re not alone,” Baze said quietly, his words warm as they whispered over the crown of Chirrut’s capped head, beating back the cold. His voice was startlingly deep, perfectly familiar, and for the first time in a long time, Chirrut smiled.

Only Baze Malbus would say this and know he needed it.

“Of course,” Chirrut said, and though his own voice still sounded muffled, he hardly noticed. His smile turned into a grin, one he only ever gave Baze. One that said more than Chirrut thought he ever could. Still, he tried to say the one thing that encompassed … everything. His heart swelled with gentle warmth. “I have you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! I hope you enjoyed the story, and I'd love to know what you thought about it. Thanks for reading!


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